Letters to the Oblivion
by Little Red Rose on the Valley
Summary: ILITW. Dan's new psychologist suggests for him to write a letter to help him cope with the pain and the grief.


This never worked out for me. My new psychiatrist (Dr. Chambal was great, but we learned the value of a more present professional) said it could be interesting if I wrote you a letter, to take some things out of my chest. I'm more of a physical person. Football player and all. I'm trying to learn to talk things out, and I'm getting better at it, but I still suck at writing.

Were you any good at it? Sometimes I wonder how well I knew you.

Nonetheless, there's no-one to talk to, and the only person I could beat up to a bloody pulp is missing for months now. Writing will have to do.

This was supposed to be a letter, if you couldn't tell. How could you, anyways? There's no date or address, but I don't think you will read it anyways, so why bother?

So, how are you? No, that sounds stupid. How else would you be? I don't really know how else I could start this thing, and I guess this is the better I can manage right now, so, how are you?

Ugh, stupid.

Perhaps if I talk about myself I'll feel less icky? I always felt like I could talk to you, in a sense, despite how much of a brat I acted about that. Even back at the 'Dark Ages' of our knowing each other.

So here it goes: I am fine. Football season starts soon, and I'm excited to be back on the pitch. My dad insists I have a real shot on playing it all the way through college, but I don't think that's what I wanna do come next Fall.

Don't get me wrong, I love playing, I really do, but all those other things that come with it, that pretentiousness, that animalistic competitive spirit… It's not me anymore, and I'm thankful for it.

I wonder how Andy feels about it. That thought just came to me. Does he feel the adrenaline doing it, or does he feel the pressure like I do?

I've been looking up some universities, too. Senior year all over again for me, or rather, for the first time, considering how much time I spent at the hospital. I remember hearing you say you wanted to attend UW back in orientation. I wish I could go there, too, but I don't think I have the grades. I'm thinking more seriously about Ohio State. They have a decent Psych program, and I think I can afford it without paying off student loans 'till I'm 80.

Yeah, I'm going into psychology. Funny, isn't it? I used to think it was stupid, to say the least, not too long ago. I wish I could talk to my Freshman-year self. That'd be an interesting conversation, right?

Or not. I have plenty to say to that kid. Do you remember when we had that volunteer thing together? I told you my dad made me go, that he thought it would help straightening me out. I lied. He did asked me to go, but I ignored him up until I saw you sign out. I wanted to talk to you.

Turns out you talked to me, instead.

After all that happened to us, all that Jane affair, we all dealt in our own way. We all kind of trailed our own individual tracks. I know Noah resented it, but I didn't. Not exactly. To me, it was more of an inevitability. I always knew I would end up on my own, that I always lived on the fringe of 'the Group'. It just was much more tragic than what I expected.

In all those years, struggling with those memories, I always wondered how the others were dealing with it, and I always took some solace into knowing that the others were struggling with it, too.

Lily, Noah and Ava made clear how they were coping with all that, and I had a good idea on how the others were, too. Did you know that Stacy had the hives every year around the anniversary, for example?

I knew. I saw. I identified myself with them. But I couldn't do it with you. I couldn't see your struggle and that made me jealous, angry. That's why I never spoke with you. That's why we all stopped speaking with you.

You were okay, and we resented you for that.

God, we were stupid. You weren't fine. You weren't dealing with it. Anyone who paid the littlest amount of attention could see you weren't that bright star that kept all of us orbiting around you. Even Connor, in the height of his Older Kid status.

For that, I am sorry. I am sorry beyond I can ever express it. I only realized how wrong I was when we talked on that damned volunteer thing, and by then it was much too late. I was in too deep, and you had spent good part of the prior decade all by yourself.

And so we are back to that conversation. If I could turn back time, if I could warn myself about the terrible future we would have to face on the coming months, I would probably tell myself to let myself be comforted by you, to offer you my own support. I would say not to go into the forest, to look for help sooner, to pull myself together.

In fact, I'd go back even further. I wish my parents never moved to Westchester, that I never met you and the others. Or that I never became friends with you. That my childish fear of just being dumped by all those cool kids I had nothing to offer just came true, so you would never have to look for me in the woods.

I wish I wasn't so damn useless. I wish I told you what I thought, what I felt. I wish you knew your life was invaluable to us, to me. I wish you didn't surrender yourself to that cursed fate of being Mr. Red or whatever happened on that demonic pit. I wish you weren't dead.

I wish I could find Noah and kick his ass so hard he'd become a model citizen. It's only fitting. You died so he could live, and what does he do to thank you? He flees.

I could kill him. I won't, even if I happen to have an axe on my hand when I find him, but I could. He betrayed us. He murdered you. He took you away from your parents. He took you away from us.

I won't ever forget that horrified scream of Stacy's when Deputy Cunningham carried your body into the clearing. I won't forget your limp hand peering out of the stretcher, the white sheet they arranged so we couldn't see your face being rendered redundant. I won't forget the dead, emotionless stare forward your mother had during your wake, as they lowered your coffin.

I am probably rambling nonsense by now. My hands are shaking and my eyes are full with tears, but I don't really care. Perhaps this was actually a good idea, that new doctor could be on to something. I mean, I'm not switching majors to English anytime soon, but I do feel better. I feel I am going to be better soon, at least, I think. Worsely better? Is that a thing?

To end all this mess, I hope you know, wherever you are, that I care for you. If it all played out differently, perhaps I could have done right by you. I miss you, and I hope you are well, wherever you are.

With all my love,

Dan


End file.
